A Cry for Help
by Just Ducky 722
Summary: When Ellie loses her best friend, can anyone save her from herself? COMPLETED
1. Loss

"Is Ellie home?"  
  
"Yeah, this is Ellie."  
  
"Ellie, this is Toby, Ash's brother."  
  
"Yeah, I know who you are. Why are you calling me?"  
  
"I…I have to tell you…"  
  
"Tell me what? Just spit it out."  
  
"Yesterday, Ash got a ride home from that party last night, you know, the one at Marco's house. Both she and the driver were drunk…and….and…"  
  
And then came the words that sent me into a spiral.  
  
"They never came home."  
  
The next day at school, they brought in grief counselors. All of us who knew Ash really well were called down to the Principle's office: Me, Paige, Craig, Marco, Spinner, Terri, Hazel. The counselor, she told us to call her Marie, led us to a conference room where we could talk.   
  
Immediately, everyone started crying; well, everyone started crying except me. Instead, I asked Marie a question. A really stupid question.   
  
I asked, "How did you get into grief counseling? Do you like to watch people sob?" I wasn't being sarcastic, I really wanted to know. Everyone gave me weird looks, and Marie steered the conversation in a different direction. Pretty soon, everyone was crying, and talking about how much they'd miss Ash, and how they wish they hadn't been drinking at the party so they could have been sober enough to think to call her a cab or something.   
  
Halfway through this, I asked to be excused. Marie responded, "You know, I really think that talking would benefit you." I figured that meant I couldn't go. So I asked if I could leave the room for a minute, go to the bathroom, and collect my thoughts. She said yes, because she was stupid. I had no thoughts to collect. But if I had to spend another moment in that room, I'd probably drown in all the tears.  
  
I practically ran down to the bathroom. I pulled out my compass, and just like I had done so many times, I started cutting again. Minutes later, just like I knew she would, Paige burst into the bathroom.   
  
"Ellie, stop it!" she demanded, urgently, her face horrified by how my arm looked. If she thought it was bad before, it had only gotten worse. Talking to Ms Sovet didn't help, believe me. "Stop it!" she demanded again.   
  
I ignored her. I went deeper. Paige pulled the compass out of my hands, and threw it away.   
  
"You know, another one will only cost me a dollar," I told her, laughing. I wiped my arm off with a paper towel, put some gauze on my arm, taped it on (I had gotten used to doing this. My cuts had gotten deeper, and so they took longer to stop bleeding), and walked out of the bathroom.  
  
  
  
The funeral held the next day was terrible. Well, it was beautiful, but it was terrible. I almost didn't go, but Marco dragged me anyways. I made all sorts of excuses, lame ones, but none of them were true. I didn't know why I didn't want to go. You would think, as close as Ash and I were that I'd want to go to her funeral, to say goodbye or something. But I didn't.  
  
Marco just thought I was uncomfortable with funerals. He's wrong though, I'm about as comfortable with funerals as one could really be. I've been to a lot in my lifetime, and while they aren't fun, they don't make me uncomfortable anymore. But I didn't tell Marco that, I just let him think what he wanted to think.  
  
I sat in the back, as far away from everyone else as I could possibly be. I knew Marco wanted to sit closer, to be with his other friends, but he didn't want to leave me alone either. I told him to go, that I'd be fine. I must be a good liar, because he believed me. Or maybe he wanted to believe me. I don't know. So I sat alone.  
  
Anyone who wanted to say something about "the deceased" (which by the way is a really cold term for someone who you knew so well) was invited to come up and do it. I stayed seated. I knew if I got up there, I'd cry. I hadn't cried yet, and I could lose control of myself. I didn't like to lose control.   
  
Paige, however, had no problem with crying publicly. She got up, and started to talk.  
  
"Ash was my best friend. Even after everything we went through together, we managed to find our way back to each other. We needed each other. I don't know what I'll do without her; without my best friend." After this sentence, of course, she started crying. So did a lot of people who were sitting.  
  
She couldn't stop, and so Spinner came up, and led her back to her seat. She glanced at me, I don't know why. But she glanced at me, with her eyes full of tears, and mine completely dry, and she gave me an odd look through her tears. She hadn't spoken to me much since she saw my arm; I know I wouldn't want to speak to me either. I probably looked and sounded like a maniac. So I couldn't imagine why she'd think to look at me now, to see how I was doing.   
  
After the funeral, I made my escape as quickly as possible. I wanted to get home. I had a brand new razor. Paige didn't know it, but she did me a service. Not the one she wanted though. When I walked into the store, heading to the school supplies, I passed a few razor blades. They were cheep too.   
  
Upstairs, I began making deep slashes in my arm. I didn't even worry about being caught anymore, my mother was too drunk to notice. A half hour later, the doorbell rang. I peered out the front window, saw it was Paige, and headed downstairs. I didn't even bother to clean myself up, I just wrapped a towel around my arm, the same towel I had been bleeding on, and I answered the door.   
  
"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.   
  
"Ice skating. What are you doing here?"  
  
She yanked me inside, and took me upstairs. I know she saw my mom, passed out on the couch, but she didn't say anything. Once we got into the bathroom, she pulled a bunch of crap out of her purse. Antiseptic, antibiotic cream, bandages: you name it, she had it. When she put the antiseptic on my arm, to clean it off, I shouted in pain.   
  
"So you can handle tearing open your skin, but you can't handle a little twinge?" she asked, angrily.  
  
"Hey, I didn't ask you for your help."  
  
"Yes you did."  
  
"No, as I recall, I didn't."  
  
"What the hell do you think these cuts are for? You want help, even if you didn't ask for it."  
  
"No, I want to be left alone."  
  
"Ellie, Ash is dead, and you haven't cried, you haven't talked about it, you won't speak to anyone about anything. I want to know why."  
  
I shoved her out of the way, and she fell on her butt. I raced into my room, and grabbed my razor again. One, two, three, four, lines of blood appeared on my arm. Five, six, seven, eight, I even managed to forget that Paige was even here. Nine, ten, suddenly Paige appeared at the door. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and I heard a noise. I glance over at Paige, and saw something I didn't expect. She was sobbing. Not like at Ash's funeral either. This was loud, messy, uncontrolled. Not much would stop me from cutting, but that did. The blood dripped from my arms, onto my bedspread. I stared blankly at her.   
  
"I couldn't help Ash," she said, sobbing. "There was nothing I could have done. I didn't even know she was dead until the next day. I couldn't have saved her life. But you…" she was still crying, "I could help you. You're still here, you're not dead. But I don't know how to help you. Nobody does. You know, I told Ash that you were cutting. The day she died, before the party started. She was so worried. She was going to confront you the day after the party. She said she didn't know how she could help, but she knew you needed help. Especially since you won't talk to Ms Sovet. Ash made me promise that I'd help. And I did. I promised that I'd help her help you. But now she's gone." Paige walked over to me, holding my arms, not noticing that I was bleeding all over her. She looked into my eyes, with the same look she had at the funeral. "Tell me what to do," she pleaded.  
  
"Nothing," I said, not meaning it at all. "You've been a bitch to me since we've met, and now you want to help me? I will not be your little project that you complete in memory of Ash. Now get out of this house."   
  
She looked at me sadly, and left. And then, for the first time since Ash had died, I cried. I had just turned away my last means of hope, and I didn't know what I'd do.  
  
  
  
The next day, during school, Ms Sovet took me out of my first hour, halfway through it.   
  
"I just wanted to know how you were doing," she asked me, once she had shut the door.  
  
"Fine, I guess."  
  
"You haven't been cutting anymore, have you?"  
  
"Of course not, I told you I wouldn't."  
  
"Then let me see your arms."  
  
I froze. And then "Where the Hell is Paige?" I demanded, angrily.  
  
"What does Paige have to do with this?" Ms Sovet asked me innocently.  
  
"Where is she? She's outside the door, isn't she? Don't lie to me."  
  
"Yes, she is," Ms Sovet admitted reluctantly.  
  
"And she talked to you this morning, didn't she? Well, tell her to get her ass in here. If she wants to tattle on me, then she had better face me."  
  
Ms Sovet opened the door, stepped out, and brought Paige back in.   
  
"Weren't you listening to me yesterday?" I screamed. "I told you to butt out. And you too, Ms Sovet! None of this is any of your business. If I want to die…"  
  
Suddenly, everyone in the room froze, including me. Had those words just come out of my mouth? Had I just said that?   
  
And then, everything went black. 


	2. Caught

I woke up to Paige and Ms Suave standing over me looking concerned.  
"Ellie, are you okay?" Paige asked me.  
"Yeah, I'm fine. It must just be that I'm tired or something."  
"Ellie, we need to talk. And not the kind of talking where we sit in silence either. We need to really talk," Ms Suave said gently.  
"Please, I don't think I can. Can't I just go? My mom's probably wondering where I am." I lied through my teeth. My mother, at this moment, probably was too drunk to realize that she had a daughter.  
Paige snorted at this statement. "Ellie, school's still in session. You mom knows where you are."  
I was at least grateful that she didn't say anything else about my mother.  
"Besides, even if it was after school, I doubt she'd be worrying, would she?" Paige asked, gently.  
"What do you mean?" Ms Suave asked.  
Paige glanced at me, saw the panicked look on my face.  
"Nothing," she responded, not convincingly.  
"Look, I refuse to talk to you. You can call my mother if you want, but I'm not going to talk to you."  
"Ellie, I hate to call you mom. I really think you'd be more comfortable if we just talked. But if you won't talk to me, then I will call your mother."  
"Fine, call her. Can I have a pass back to class?"  
"I'll write you a pass, Paige, but Ellie, you'll have to wait until I get a hold of your mother."  
She sent Paige to class, and dialed the phone. I just prayed that my mother hadn't gotten drunk yet. Sometimes she managed to hold off until 10 o'clock, at least. And since it was only 8:30, well, I had a chance.  
"Hello, Mrs. Nash, this is Ms Suave, guidance counselor at Degrassi School. I'm calling to give you some unfortunate news. I have your daughter, Ellie, with me, and she's been cutting herself. She refuses to talk to me, and so I'm leaving her treatment up to you. I have a couple of good names of therapists, if you want them."  
She paused, getting my mother's response, and then rattled off some names and phone numbers. Then she said, "Do you want me to send her home?"  
She paused again, and then responded, "Ok, if you're sure, I'll just send her right back to class. Call me anytime, if you need to. Bye."  
"Well, Ellie, I think your mother's going to get you some professional help. She wants me to send you back to class, but you should be sure to go straight home today."  
I didn't argue. By the time school was over, my mother would be drunk again. I was going to my co-op. I'd get home when I got home.  
I headed back to class, rode out the day with no comments from Paige, except maybe a guilty look in my direction once in a while, and then I headed to my co-op, where I put in a ton of work. Then I went home, expecting the usual sight when I got home.  
I wasn't disappointed. My mother was drunk, passed out on the couch. I covered her back up, and then went upstairs. 


	3. Huh?

The next morning I woke up, early, which was really out of the ordinary. My mom was downstairs making coffee. Coffee?? My mother??? Whose kitchen was I in?  
"Good morning sweetie! What do you want for breakfast?" she asked me, completely oblivious to the fact that my mouth was on the floor.  
I picked it up off the floor and said, "Umm, some toast would be nice, I guess. Thanks."  
She started bustling around the kitchen, pulling out the toaster, getting the bread, and she opened the fridge and pulled out my favorite kind of jam. It was then that I noticed that she was dressed nicely, her hair done, and makeup up on.  
"Your guidance counselor called yesterday," she said, while the toast was toasting. "It seems you're having some kind of problem. I thought I'd go down there and straighten it out. Let her that no daughter of mine could possibly be having any serious problems. We're a happy family, even with dad gone, right Eleanor? Right?" she asked, almost pleading.  
Mostly just because I didn't want her to burn my toast, I agreed. "Yeah mom, my guidance counselor is exaggerating." That's when I had an idea. "But you know how that counselor is. They're so pushy. She probably won't leave you alone until you promise to get me some sort of help. But since there's really nothing wrong with me, you could just say you'd get me help, and then just forget everything." Now it was my turn to be pleading.  
"You know, Eleanor, that's actually not a bad idea. It would get her off my back, wouldn't it? Besides, she doesn't even really know you, not like your mother does. Don't worry, Eleanor, I'll get everything straightened out."  
"Thanks, mom." Then she handed me my toast, and a glass of orange juice. I had sort of forgotten what it was like to have a real mother. It was nice to have breakfast in the morning. Maybe, just maybe, it would last? Even just a little while?  
"Would you like a ride to school? Since I'm going there anyways? I could drop you off in the front and then go park."  
"Sure mom, that would be really terrific. I'd love that."  
She grabbed the keys to her purse, and we headed out to the car. On the way, she made some small talk, something she hadn't done in a while; mostly because she had been too busy passing out to say much of anything else. Once we got there, she dropped me off in the front, and went to go park.  
I got through the day without being asked to the office, so I assumed everything went well with my mom. I even got a few comments through the day, saying how great it was that I looked happy. Well, I guess when you have a reason to be happy, being happy is much easier.  
I headed off to my co-op, and got more work done that day than I had in forever. Even Caitlin was impressed. I went home, excited, but a little nervous. It would be so easy for my mother to just have put on an act.  
All the way home, all I could think to myself was, "Please let her be sober, please let her be sober!"  
And when I got home, much to my shock, she was sober! And she was making a dinner for the two of us. And the kitchen and living room was clean. Then I headed into the bathroom, where it was also spotlessly clean. I couldn't believe my eyes!  
"You like it Eleanor?" she asked me.  
"I've never seen our house so clean!" I exclaimed. "You must have been cleaning forever. It looks terrific!"  
"Thank you Eleanor. I took a peek in your room, and I was thinking maybe you'd clean it up after dinner. I'm going to finish up my cleaning too."  
"Sure mom, anything you want."  
"Great. Now, why don't we sit down to dinner? I'll tell you what went on with your guidance counselor."  
We sat down, and my mother said grace! Imagine, my mother, saying a prayer to God, and not being drunk or begging for the money for more booze.  
  
"I let your guidance counselor that I would look into getting you some outside help, and she gave me the names of some of the people you could see. I was wondering, if maybe you'd actually like to talk to them? We can afford it, and I'd be willing to let you do that, if you wanted," she told me, looking like she really wanted me to say no.  
"No thanks mom. I'd really rather not. I can handle my own problems." That when I thought to myself, 'Yeah, I can handle them well enough when you're sober.  
"She told me that Ash had died. Is that the gothic girl who came over a few times?"  
"Yeah."  
"Eleanor, I was thinking maybe you could dress a little, well, a little differently. Just to try it. You know, a little more, presentable. But only if you want to."  
"I don't know mom, this is who I am..." I was really hesitating. I would do nearly anything to please my mother at this point, but that... well, that was just a little hard to agree too.  
"Please Eleanor, it would really mean a lot to me."  
I pictured the looks on my classmates' faces when I came to school tomorrow, dressed like a prep. Of course, if my mother would stay sober, it was worth any humiliation. "Sure mom, I think I can find some acceptable clothes in my closet."  
"Don't get me wrong sweetheart, you look beautiful no matter what, but you could really make yourself look terrific by dressing more normal."  
Well, even though that comment kind of stung, I still agreed. Once we finished dinner, I started to clear the dishes, but she stopped me and said, "I'll do that dear. Why don't you go on upstairs and straighten up your room and do your homework. I've got everything under control down here."  
I got a little suspicious, but I agreed anyways. I'd have to trust her eventually.  
I ran upstairs, cleaned, did homework, and by then it was only 8 o'clock, so I went back downstairs, almost fully expecting my mother to be wasted. Again, I was shocked. She was dusting! Dusting! I couldn't believe it. My mother never dusted in her entire life.  
"All done Eleanor?"  
"Yeah mom. All clean, and homework all done."  
"Terrific. I'm going to head out to the grocery store, and I'll be back in a bit."  
"Okay mom. See you then."  
As soon as my mother's car had pulled out of the driveway, I dashed to where she kept the booze. It was gone! All of it! Every last ounce was totally and completely gone! When she returned a half hour later, none of her bags had any booze in it. I was so excited, I could have cried. Dressing like a prep was totally worth it.  
"Well, you'd better head off to bed," my mother said. And then she did something she hadn't done since I was six. She kissed me on the forehead, and told me to sleep well. I floated up the stairs. I wasn't even dreading tomorrow at school. 


	4. School

So that dread I hadn't been feeling the night before...well, now I was feeling it...in full force. I opened up my closet and stared helplessly. After a few minutes I pulled out a plain pair of jeans. I didn't really have a lot to go on as a model for what my mother considered "normal", so I was sort of using Paige as my example. Just sort of though. Anyways, the jeans were good. Paige wears jeans all the time. After flipping through a couple of things, and immediately eliminating anything with short sleeves, I was left with slim pickings. But then I came up with an idea. I ran to my dad's closet, grabbed a white dress shirt and put that on. Then I got a black long sleeved shirt from my closet, and put it on over. I pulled the collar and the cuffs out from under the black shirt, and had something that was preppie enough.  
  
I took on look at myself in the mirror, and almost died. My reflection actually disgusted me. But I carried on, putting my hair into a pony tail and then I reached for my black eyeliner. Thinking about it a little more, I put that away, and took out a makeup kit I had gotten in, like, third grade. I put a little brownish eye shadow on, hoping that was okay, and some mascara. I really was pretty clueless here. Figuring I looked more or less acceptable, I put on some chap stick, and headed downstairs. If my mother was drunk, I'd be back upstairs in three seconds to change. If she was sober, well, I'd humiliate myself at school.  
  
"Good morning Eleanor. My, you look really nice this morning. I made you some breakfast."  
  
She handed me a stack of three pancakes and syrup. I ate quickly, because I didn't have much time left.  
  
"What time will you be getting home tonight, Eleanor?"  
  
"Um, I have co-op right after school, and I usually don't get finished with that until about 5 o'clock or so, so I should be home no later than six. Is that okay?" I asked her, hardly believing myself. I was asking my mother if it was okay to do what I had been doing for the past two months.  
  
"Sure, that's no problem at all. I'll have dinner ready around 6:30. I'm going job hunting today."  
  
"Really?" I asked, figuring this was too good to be true. "Where are you looking?"  
  
"I have a job interview at the hospital for a nurse position. Keep your fingers crossed for me. With any luck, this'll give us a little extra money to go shopping in a few weeks."  
  
"Ok, well, good luck mom. I've got to get going to school."  
  
"Sorry, honey, but I can't give you a ride today."  
  
"Oh, that's okay mom." Actually, it was more than okay, I thought to myself as I headed out the door. I loved having a real mom and all, but it was kind of getting creepy. And I was always on edge, trying not to set her off. I mean, I didn't want her to start drinking again.  
  
Once I walked into school, I knew this was going to be a very very very bad day.  
  
"Nice outfit," was the nicest comment I got all day, and that was sarcastic. Apparently, no one in this school could suddenly change their look without getting a whole lot of shit. Marco cornered me in the hall. "What's up with this Ellie?"  
  
"I just decided to try something different."  
  
"But why? I don't get it. How you dressed was always so important to you, and then...well, I just don't understand."  
  
"I just...my mom..." I stopped right there. Anything I said would sound really lame, and I knew it.  
  
"You changed for you mom?" he asked, incredulously.  
  
"Well, yes," I said lamely. "She said I'd look nicer if I looked more normal. And, well, I didn't want her to start..." I trailed off. Marco was the only one who knew that my mom drank.  
  
"To start drinking again?"  
  
"Well, yes. You don't understand, Marco. You've always had a great family. I haven't. I mean...well, I'd do just about anything to keep her this way."  
  
"Your clothing isn't the reason she started drinking in the first place."  
  
"No, but she was so happy when I came downstairs looking like this. I just...I can't..."  
  
"Fine, Ellie. If you want to change for you mom, fine. I just thought you were different..."  
  
"Marco, that's not fair at all. You haven't had to deal with half the crap I've dealt with. You've never come home and have to clean up the bottles of booze from the table, and help your mom change out of her clothes because they're covered in puke. You've never had to pretend you were your own parent when a teacher called because they were too drunk to come to the phone. You've never had to fend for yourself at all. Your judgment comes from someone with parents who care. So Marco, get over yourself. You have no right to judge me or my decision to change my wardrobe."  
  
"El..." he started.  
  
"Forget it; I don't want to talk to you anymore." I stormed off, so angry, I couldn't see straight.  
  
That was the worst thing that happened all day. The only person who never commented was Caitlin at co-op. 


	5. Too Good to be True

When I got home from co-op, my worst fears greeted me. My mom was lying on the couch with a half-drunk bottle of vodka. I just stared at her.  
"Don't give me that look Eleanor," she said, the words slurred because she was more than a little tipsy.  
"Mom, what..." I trailed off, unable to complete a sentence.  
"I didn't get the job, okay? I just needed a little pick-me-up. Things'll go back to normal tomorrow."  
"Things already have gone back to normal. This," I said, sweeping my hands across the room, "is normal. The past few days have been heaven, and now things have gone back to normal."  
"Don't cry Eleanor," she said sharply. "Get upstairs, and get control of yourself."  
"The only one who needs to get control is you, mother! You need to get control of your damn drinking," I shouted.  
My mother stood up, swaying on her feet, and staggered over to me. She looked me in the eyes, and slapped me. Then she fell over. I helped her back up onto the couch, same as I always did, and went upstairs. The first thing I did was change into my clothes. The second thing I did was reach for my razor. 


	6. It Ends

Ellie Nash, 16, died on March 26, 2004, from self-inflicted wounds in her home. She leaves behind a mother too drunk to know that her daughter is even dead, and a father who can't be reached in some country nobody has ever heard of. A funeral will not be held, because she has no one to plan one for her.  
I put my pen down. No, I probably wouldn't kill myself. I don't know why I would write my own obituary. I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn't.  
My mom was downstairs, probably still drinking. I knew, no matter what she promised, that she'd never stop drinking. I knew, that no matter how much he said he loved me, my dad would never give up his work to be with his family. And it just hurt so much with Ash gone. I knew Marco and I were friends, I guess, but he was more friends with Dylan's group now, because they were going out. I can't blame him; Dylan's a really great guy.  
I shoved my journal into my backpack, the one place my mother couldn't get to it while I was at school (not that she'd ever be sober enough to make it all the way to my room or anything) and tucked myself into bed.  
  
The next morning, I dressed in my usual clothes. I went downstairs, and I made my own breakfast. My mother was passed out on the couch. I cleaned up the empty bottle of booze, and I put a new one out for her with a note that said, "Enjoy. Love, Ellie." I was done with pretending that she wouldn't drink. At least she wouldn't have to get up anymore. Except to puke. So as an afterthought, I put a bucket near her. "There," I thought to myself, "now she'll never have to get up again." Then I headed off to school.  
After I stopped at my locker, I saw Marco heading my way. He looked me up and down, at my clothes, and he got a sad look on his face. I turned around immediately, and headed in the opposite direction. He called out to me, "El, wait up!" But I kept walking. I ducked into the girls bathroom, the one place I knew he wouldn't follow me. I was right. He pounded on the door once or twice, but when I didn't respond, he sighed, and walked away. I headed into one of the stalls. I sat there until the warning bell rang for class, then I got up and headed to homeroom. After attendance was taken, Mr. Simpson told us just to relax until first period started. I pulled out my math homework and my journal. I opened my book to the homework I had actually done last night, and put my notebook there. It was open to the page with my obituary in it, but I figured no one would pay me any attention if they thought I was scrambling to do my math homework.  
It worked. Even Marco left me alone. I stared at the page, at the words I had written, "died on March 26, 2004, from self-inflicted wounds in her home." The words seemed to be screaming in my head. "DIED FROM SELF-INFLICTED WOUNDS" "DIED"  
It was all I could see in my head.  
The bell rang, startling me, and I slammed my book shut, over my journal. I practically ran out of the classroom, hoping to avoid Marco. He called out to me again, just like he had this morning, but I ignored him. He wasn't in my English class, so I'd be safe first period.  
Second period was math. I'd see Marco then, like it or not. He looked at me with a mixture of sadness, relief, and panic. All he said to me was, "Meet me outside in the front at lunch. We need to talk."  
I nodded, and pushed passed him into the classroom. I knew talking to him was inevitable, that's why I didn't argue.  
The day passed so slowly. When lunch finally came around, I met Marco in the front. He led me to the side of the school, a place where no one ever went. I'm sure he figured I wouldn't talk about my mom in public.  
"I guess you want to know why I'm back to my usual clothes," I said, half smiling.  
"You left this in homeroom this morning," he said, pulling my journal out of his book bag.  
"Oh my gosh, thanks for picking it up," I said gratefully, taking it and shoving it securely in my book bag. If it had been anyone else...well, that would have been really bad. I looked up at Marco. One tear feel down his cheek, and the look of sadness in his eye scared me.  
"Look Marco, I know that you've probably figured that my mom's started drinking again, but don't worry. Honest, I'll be okay. It's nothing to cry about," I said, attempting a smile. "I really didn't expect it to last anyways."  
"It's the 26," he said sadly.  
"Yeah," I agreed, not getting it at all.  
"The 26 of March," he said, like this would clarify everything.  
"So what? I know what day it is."  
"Ellie Nash, 16, died on March 26, 2004, from self-inflicted wounds in her home," he whispered. I didn't say anything. What on earth could I say?  
"Were you going to do it today? Were you?" he screamed in my face, through his tears.  
"I...I...I wasn't..."  
"Self-inflicted wounds? What does that mean? Your family doesn't have a gun. What were you going to do to yourself?"  
"Nothing Marco. I wasn't going to do anything. I swear. I was just...writing...just writing, that's all. I swear."  
"What does self-inflicted wounds mean?" he asked me again, insistent.  
"I...I can't..."  
"Tell me!" he shouted.  
I stared down at my feet.  
"TELL ME!"  
A tear ran down my cheek. I was still looking at my feet. I couldn't look up at him. I rolled up one sleeve. Marco gasped, and then I rolled up the other.  
"How...how...how long," he stuttered.  
"Two months," I whispered.  
"I have to...I have to tell Mrs. Sauve." He took off running.  
"No! Marco, wait!" I screamed.  
He looked back for a second, and then kept running. I knew there was only one thing I could do.  
I took off running, in the opposite direction. To my house. Even if Mrs. Sauve drove to my house, it'd take at least a few minutes for Marco to explain the story.  
While I was running, I tried desperately to think of other options. There were none. I was not going to be labeled crazy. I wouldn't go to a nut house to be fixed.  
My mom was passed out on the couch when I burst into the house. I ran upstairs, and I grabbed my razor. It felt cold in my fingers. I dragged the blade up my arm, deeper than I ever had before. I knew better than to cut across my wrists. This way, I'd cut along an entire vein. I did the same to the other arm. Things were getting fuzzy, hazy almost. I heard someone burst into the doors downstairs. Marco screamed my name from somewhere far away, and so did Mrs. Sauve. He ran upstairs, and looked in my room. "Call an ambulance," he screamed. He was crying.  
"Ellie, El, it's going to be okay. I'm here for you. Just stay with me."  
I whispered in his ear, "Ellie Nash, 16, died March 26, 2004 from self- inflicted wounds. She left behind parents who didn't care, and no friends, except for one. She didn't realize how much of a friend she had in him, but by then it was too late." I looked at Marco, tears streaming down his face. He knew the ambulance would come too late. He knew as well as I did. He hugged me tight, and looked into my eyes.  
Then I closed them. 


	7. Aftermath

Marco sat in the last row at her funeral. Her mother was in the front row, putting on a good show. Her father, who came from whatever the hell country he was from, put his arm around her. Everyone from school was there. Ellie would have been surprised.  
Marco stood up, and took a long walk down the aisle. He got up to the podium, and stared out at everyone. Ellie's parents wanted him to say a few things about Ellie.  
He was going to say a few things, alright.  
"Ellie Nash, 16, died from self-inflicted wounds in her home on March 26, 2004," he paused, and angrily brushed a tear from his cheek. He took a deep breath and continued. "She leaves behind a mother, who has no idea that she hated being called Eleanor, who's going to get drunk after the service, just like she usually does. She leaves behind a father, who doesn't even know his daughter's favorite food, who in two days will be back in a country no one's ever heard of. She leaves behind a school full of people, who only show any care about her now that she's dead. And she leaves behind me, the one person who cared about her too late," he paused again. He couldn't believe he was going to say this. He took a deep breath, "Ellie Nash, 16, died on March 26, 2004 from wounds inflicted from her mother, her father, her classmates, and a friend who was never really a good enough friend. The wounds which killed her go too deep for anyone to see."  
He stepped down, walked away from the podium. A hundred or more shocked faces stared at him. Dylan stood up, put his arm around him. He was the only one Marco had read his speech too. Marco walked out, tears streaming down his cheeks. Not for himself, but for the girl he felt he had a hand in killing. 


End file.
